


the way that it felt back then

by Bawsanity (CrowsGirl15)



Series: Pitch Missing Scenes [6]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: 106, Episode Related, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowsGirl15/pseuds/Bawsanity
Summary: Ginny’s not sure that she wants to play baseball anymore. Mike helps her remember what she loves about it. A missing scene from 1x06. (Ok, several missing scenes from 1x06…)





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally finished! So, these were all supposed to be 1000-2000 word missing scene fics. This one took on a mind of its own, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. You should definitely read at least the last two in this series before this one if you want it to make sense! I also felt like there were some offscreen holes in the last few episodes that I wanted to help fill... I'm not in love with all of it, but I think it came out alright.
> 
> Title from "Remind Me" by Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood

As it turns out, Ginny Baker knows how to hold a grudge.

Mike wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting when Ginny told him he’d been relegated to teammate-only status, but at least part of his cocky, pigheaded brain was under the impression that she would let it go. That once the weight of his secret was off them, she would be angry for a few days, and then they could go back to the way things were. To the early morning gym sessions, late night phone calls, joking around in the clubhouse. They'd go back to who they were before.

_Before you went and fucked everything up._

But he soon discovered that it wouldn't be that easy to find his way back into Ginny Baker’s good graces. There was something else going on with his rookie. Something that caused her eyes to dim just slightly, made her dimples appear a little less often. To most people, it wouldn’t be noticeable, but for someone whose mind travelled to Ginny a few hundred times more than was appropriate, it was impossible to miss. It had come to a head on the mound that day, when he’d stuck his foot in his mouth by daring to bring up a panic attack he had no business even _knowing_ about. Since then, he’d noticed.

Her shoulders slumped more than usual. Her steps had become slower, more methodical. While she still approached the clubhouse with giddy enthusiasm, an apprehension had begun to color her expression. She was suspicious of everyone, of everything, and it had wormed its way into all her interactions.

The change was subtle. A healthier person might have attributed it to stress or a bad mood. Mike had first thought it was only directed at him, a side effect of “teammate-only status”. But even his narcissistic brain quickly figured out that this had nothing to do with Mike Lawson. There was something else going on, something darker.

By the time they arrived in Washington DC - a day early, with a blessed off day before they opened a 4-game series with the Nationals - Ginny had almost retreated into herself, and Mike knew he needed to do  _something_  to bring her back to normal.

Though, in the end, as always, she found her way back on her own. 

          *** 

It felt like his hotel room was always next to Ginny's these days. You know, like the Universe was either taunting him or trying to help him out, because just hearing her muffled phone conversations through the wall was enough to drive him to distraction. It was worse when she wasn't starting the next day, thus giving him no reason to reach out across that thin wall of a divide and have a conversation, leaving him alone with his traitorous thoughts.

That night, however, Mike was grateful for the proximity. (Or, well, more grateful than normal, if he dared to admit that he  _lived_  for those muffled conversations...)

DC wasn’t Mike's favorite road trip. They stayed too close to downtown, and he had never been very adept at tuning out street sounds. His house in San Diego was secluded enough that all he could hear was the ocean and the occasional bird, and he spent most of his time in the nation's capital staring at the ceiling trying to get some sleep.

Which was exactly what he was doing at 11pm Monday night. The plane had landed late, and the rest of the guys had peeled off to their rooms, setting an informal appointment to 'rage' the following night on their off day. Mike could have gone out alone, picked up a groupie, brought her back to the hotel...it wouldn't have been hard, even 3000 miles from home…but he wasn't feeling it tonight. (And it had nothing to do with the rookie next door. Nothing at all). So he settled into bed with a stat sheet and the Nats replay, hoping to get some work done.

The voices through the wall this time were a lot more than a muffled phone call. No, this was Ginny and Amelia having a clipped conversation, getting progressively louder by the second. If you asked later, Mike would deny the way he pressed back, closer to the wall. Would deny how he strained to hear what they were saying. Would definitely deny that he turned down his television just to listen.

"Amelia, you're worrying about nothing. It's an off day." Ginny’s voice had that low, world weary tone it always did these days.

"You want to fly all the way to North Carolina alone for a day? After everything that happened? After everything that’s _going_ to happen? At least let me come with you..."

"No, Amelia, seriously, no..." And he could only hear bits and pieces until Amelia finally said,

"Alright, I'll talk to Oscar, I'll get you the team plane."

If Mike were a smart man, he would have stayed put. He would have put in some ear plugs, ignored the traffic, and tried to get some sleep. He might have even headed down to the hotel bar and found some unsuspecting tourist to distract him from the pretty, 23-year-old screwballer who wouldn't leave his brain.

But no one had ever accused Mike Lawson of being smart.

He rose from his bed, throwing on a t-shirt and taking the short walk over to Ginny's door. Amelia was leaving as he arrived, and she gave him a look that was half accusation, half relief. They stood silently for a long minute, Amelia doing the protective dance she had perfected in two years as Ginny’s agent before stepping aside with a shrug.

"Maybe you'll have better luck than me..." It was tacit approval, and Mike took it gratefully. In another life, he and Amelia could have been close. It might have even worked out.  _In another life..._

He stepped in the room and found Ginny with her face buried in her Ipad, swiping through something he couldn't see from his angle. She looked up and rolled her eyes, her face traveling back down immediately. He knew the brush off when he saw it.

Luckily, Mike Lawson didn't bruise easy.

"So you're ditching us for the off day, huh?" He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, dropping into captain mode, since that’s the only way he could get her attention these days.

"Yep." She didn't look up, but it was a start.

"You know you have work to do, right?"

"Yep. There are gyms in Tarboro."

He tried again. "I mean,  _we_  have work to do. You can't be flying all over the place when we have work to do."

"And yet..." He hated this. He hated the short, angry answers. He hated not being able to talk to her, not being able to communicate in these moments. On the field, it was like nothing had changed, but this...it was like wading through concrete.

“You’re pitching on Wednesday.” His arms remained folded, trying to keep an air of authority as he lost the exchange.

“Wednesday _night_ ,” she challenged, her head still down. “And I’ll be back by 9am. We’ll have plenty of time to go over the hitters, and for you to mock me about my fastball, and even to get a run in before the game.” She finally looked up from the tablet, her face more annoyed than reassuring. “Seriously, Lawson, lay off.”

Out of arguments, Mike did the only other thing that made sense in the moment. “Well, then, I’m going with you.”

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and her angry, incredulous tone reminded him of that night in the clubhouse. “Going _with_ me?”

It might have been ill advised, but he doubled down. “Yeah, I’ll come to Tarboro. We can go over batters on the plane, and it’ll give me a chance to catch up on my sleep since DC definitely won’t be doing the trick.”

“Lawson, you’re not coming with me. I didn't let Amelia come, what makes you think I'd let you?"

“I’m your captain, Baker, and in case you’ve forgotten, I don’t need your permission to get on the team plane, no matter where it’s taking me. So I’ll see you tomorrow. 8am. I’ll bring snacks. You like Corn Nuts?” And he turned away without waiting for a response, heading back to his room.

“Lawson!” She called after him. “Mike Lawson, you’re not-” But the slam of the door cut off her protestations, and Mike grinned to himself before shooting off an e-mail to cancel his Tuesday meeting with a knee specialist. Maybe he could finally figure out what was wrong with his rookie.

          ***

She was already on the plane when he arrived, and didn’t look in his direction when he boarded. Mike contemplated asking her whether this would be considered a “teammate” situation or not, thus making him worthy of interaction, but the defiant way she looked out the window at the runway answered the question for him. He threw a bag of Corn Nuts on the seat next to her (a joke, to be sure, he hadn’t touched them since his 30th birthday when his metabolism caught up with his workouts), and he could swear he saw an infinitesimal smile flash across her features. But it was gone as quick as it arrived, and he settled into a seat across the aisle, making a show of pulling a newspaper out of the seat back pocket.

With its only two passengers now safely aboard, the plane took off, and Mike settled in for the short trip to Raleigh. He flipped through the pages of the newspaper and willed himself not to look in her direction. The silence that stretched between them was stifling, the air tense and full as they both pointedly focused away from each other and Mike tried not to contemplate what she was thinking. Tried and failed, as it turned out, because what was going on in Ginny Baker’s brain had become a fixture over the past two months, and being this close to her when she was so sullen and depleted was doing nothing to quell that preoccupation.

After the pilot told them they’d reached their cruising altitude, he’d finally had enough. “So why the trip ho-”

“No talking,” she snapped and fished her Beats headphones out of the familiar black backpack.

“Oh, come on, Baker. You can’t be-"

“No. Talking.” She cut him off again, her glare piercing through him until he relented. “I didn’t invite you. This was supposed to be my trip. So if you’re going to be here, you’re going to be silent.” She shoved the headphones over her ears and turned her entire body to face the window once again. Mike rolled his eyes, pulled out the sports section, and settled back in the seat. It might be stifling, but he could do silence if _that_ was the alternative.

The remainder of their trip to Tarboro floated by in uneventful solitude. They ate Caesar salad prepared by a flight crew with a surprising amount of culinary talent, Mike studied the Nationals hitters, and Ginny fell into a sound sleep almost minutes after finishing her food. She was still out when the plane landed, and Mike risked his sanity and his left hand to softly shake her awake. “Baker, we’re on the ground.”

In her groggy state, Ginny’s animosity toward him seemed to have waned, and Mike took advantage of the opportunity to grab both their bags and guide her out of the plane. He took another risk by asking for her address to give Uber, but the sleep seemed to have lifted her ‘no talking’ rule as well, at least for the time being, and she rattled off an address the app declared to be one hour from the airport.

As they drove along I64 toward Tarboro, Ginny’s face settled into a haunting mix of contentment and pure distress. It was a look he didn’t recognize, and Mike felt a wave of concern at the way she let her fingers press against the glass of the window. Her eyes narrowed as if trying to remember something, though if the frustrated sigh she let out when she dropped them was any indication, she couldn’t get there.

“You okay?” He murmured soft enough that the driver couldn’t overhear them.

“Just…trying,” Ginny let out cryptically before shaking off whatever had been distracting her brain and turning to look at him. “You know this doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, right?”

“Oh, I know, Baker.”

“This is a business trip as far as you’re concerned.” She actually shook a finger at him, and he had to swallow the amused chuckle that rose at her righteous indignation.

“I know that too.”

“Just so we’re clear.” And she crossed her arms, leaning back in the seat. Mike swallowed another smile as they pulled up in front of a boxy, white colonial on a typical, suburban street. Ginny didn’t let him get the upper hand this time, pulling her own backup out of the trunk and leaving him to retrieve his own as she stood at the curb, staring at the front door.

“So this is where the famous Ginny Baker grew up…” He said as the car pulled away, earning a laugh for which he gave himself a subliminal fist bump.

“Be it ever so humble.” And though her feet shuffled, she didn’t move toward the door.

He narrowed his eyes over at her before nodding back at the house. “We going in?"

Ginny shrugged and finally walked to unlock the front door, not bothering to hold it open for him as she walked inside.

Mike followed her through the entrance and into a small, inviting foyer. Fresh flowers sat on the entrance table, but he had noticed the lack of a car in the driveway, not to mention complete silence inside the home. “Just us today?”

“Mmm,” she led him down the hallway into an open concept kitchen that Rachel would have loved. ( _No_. _No Rachel. This is about her._ ) “Just us. Mom’s out of town for the weekend with her ‘women’s group’ and Will’s trying to pretend he can afford his own place for a while.”

She bent over to look into the refrigerator and her face screwed up in that frustrated, disappointed look she got whenever she threw too far outside or a batter didn't swing. Mike wondered what the fridge could have done to get that kind of treatment, but she quickly closed it and gestured for him to follow her up the stairs.

The house would have been small by any other metric, but comparing it to the places Mike had called home as a kid, the cozy colonial was a freaking palace. As they traveled upstairs, he paused to look at the pictures ascending up the wall. A shot of a 2-year-old Ginny in a ruffled dress. A pre-teen little league shot with her bat on her shoulder. A posed picture of her and Will at what must have been his graduation. Ginny finally noticed he wasn’t following, and shook her head when she turned to look at him.

"Lawson." He snapped back to her and she gestured to a room. "This way."

The guest room was nothing special. Bed, dresser, a few fake flowers. But it would do the trick. Mike threw his bag on the bed and reached in to pull out a change of clothes, his own rumpled from the flight. He started to undress and turned to look at Ginny with his best 'annoyed face'.

"Geez, Baker, I know you want to get a look at the goods, but can I have some privacy?" He was rewarded with a blush and a bite of her lip before she remembered herself, shaking her head and turning.

"I'm going to run to the store. Try not to touch anything." She was gone before Mike could think of a witty comeback, and he rolled his eyes, changing into a pair of jeans and a Padres t-shirt. He settled in to check e-mails and make sure there were no fires to put out back in DC, pretty sure he could hear Ginny muttering to herself before slamming the door.

She was gone 5 minutes before he realized the opportunity she'd left him. He was all alone in Ginny Baker's childhood home, and had free reign to discover all the things she didn't want him to know about.

And he knew exactly where he was headed.

Rising from the bed, he paused to listen momentarily, just in case she had realized her mistake and come back. When confident he was really alone, Mike stepped out into the hallway, certain of his mission. He tried three doors (a bathroom, a closet, an office) before he finally found Ginny’s bedroom, grinning to himself before walking in.

It had clearly been a while since Ginny had decorated the room. ( _Not long enough_ , his subconscious supplied, but he tamped that down quickly). It was the perfect blend of preteen girl and hard-core baseball player. Among the gloves and trophies there were old photos of friends and even a rogue stuffed animal or two. But that’s not what he was after. And, swallowing a grin, he turned his body to look at each of the four walls.

When he reached the headboard, the curiosity quickly turned to glee. There, above her bed, larger than life, hung a promotional poster of 25-year-old Mike Lawson. He remembered the picture well. It had been on his second Topps card, and they’d given those posters out on a few promo nights at the ballpark. In North Carolina, she must have bought it online, and he couldn’t help but think of her scouring Ebay and anxiously waiting for the mail. He looked good. Young, fit, clean-shaven. It's no wonder 13-year-old Ginny Baker had been a fan.

Mike was so engrossed in the thought of Ginny buying this poster and hanging it up that he almost didn't hear the door slam and the patter of feet running up the stairs and down the hall. Apparently she'd figured out what leaving Mike Lawson alone in her house would lead to. Ginny ripped open the door and paused when she saw him positioned at the end of her childhood bed with his arms crossed, staring up at his younger self.

"Uhhh..." Ginny Baker at a loss for words, that had to be a first. And she had to know Mike was going to milk this moment. It was way too good to pass up.

"So, no poster, huh?" He cocked a brow teasingly and the way she blushed and bit her lip (the second time that day, he mentally catalogued) was more than enough to get him going. "Didn't think you should maybe update that one over the years?" He nodded over at it.

"I don't know, Lawson, think I prefer the younger model..." It was a joke. A real, honest to God, teasing joke for the first time in weeks, and though Mike would deny the flutter in his stomach to his grave, it was also the first time in weeks that he thought they would be ok.

"So what other Lawson memorabilia do you have around here? A Mike Lawson jersey? Magazine? Body pillow?" He moved toward her dresser and she reached over to stop his hand from opening the drawer. He cocked his brow. "Oh, really?"

She rolled her eyes at him. He loved that look. "I don't have a  _body pillow_ , Old Man," she dropped her hand, and Mike immediately missed the contact. "I might,  _might_  have a t-shirt or two..."

"And 'Mrs. Mike Lawson' written all over your diary?" She elbowed him at that, which he probably deserved, and tried to guide him out of her bedroom.

"Please, like I'd ever change my name for you." And they were laughing, _actually_ laughing as they made their way down to the kitchen, reinforcing Mike’s decision to follow her to North Carolina.

Ginny busied herself by putting a few large bottles of water and Gatorade in the refrigerator along with a case of...was that  _grape soda_? "Baker, seriously? Are you 12?"

She scoffed at him and cracked open a can, pushing up to sit on the counter and sip from it. "You don't need to be 12 to recognize the greatest drink of all time, Lawson…” She shot him a look and took a long, slow drink, making a show of tilting her head back and actually fucking moaning. (Because it was clearly her mission in life to drive him crazy). She brought her eyes back down to his and smiled her daring, selfish smile. “You see? Grape soda is the best.”

He shook his head but reached to grab one as well, leaning next to her on the counter and cracking it open, giving her a sideways glance before taking a long drink. “Alright, it’s not bad.”

“See.” She leaned back against the cabinets and they fell into another silence, this one far more comfortable than the others. It felt real, natural, like they were _this_ close to being back to normal.

“So you gonna tell me what we’re doing here?” He tried again, giving her that look, the one that had the power to make her either amused or annoyed depending on the circumstance. This time, she shut down completely, hopping down off the counter and placing her empty can down, grabbing his as well.

“Come on.” She was gruff again, cold, as if she’d remembered they weren’t supposed to be like this. It had been too much too soon, and Mike should have known that, but he had never been very good at controlling his impulses. Especially not around Ginny. He sighed, frustrated, but followed her all the same.

“Where are we going?”

“For a run, Captain. If you can keep up, I may even let you talk about tomorrow’s hitters.” She disappeared into her room, and Mike shook his head before heading to change. Again.

          ***

In the end, she had to slow down to keep up with his sore knees, but they managed to get 3 miles in, chatting about Nationals hitters the entire time. He talked her out of pitching inside to Ryan Zimmerman, citing 10 examples of him hitting a pitch low and in before she finally rolled her eyes and agreed. She told him about facing Bryce Harper in the minors, during one of his rehab stints, but ultimately confessed she had never gotten a read on him and he always got a hit. Mike made it his mission to help her strike him out the next day.

Now, they were sitting at a Mexican restaurant that Ginny called ‘better than you’d expect for North Carolina’, sipping beers, waiting for a slow waiter to stop making guacamole at the next table over so they could order. Ginny munched on dry chips, despite a bowl of salsa sitting right next to them, and he mentally stored that as something he could tease her about later.

When they eventually ordered – tacos for Mike, enough to feed a small army for Ginny – he took pause again at her late request, “Can you make mine without cilantro, Joe?” showing the dimples, because as much as she liked to pretend she was in over her head with all the attention, she was _great_ at using it to her advantage.

“No _cilantro_? It’s Mexican food!” Mike cocked a brow at her as the waiter, _Joe_ , walked away, and she gave him that challenging look that was quickly becoming par for the course.

“Yeah, cilantro is disgusting.” He laughed and shook his head, taking a long swig of his Corona, which she apparently took as the go ahead to continue. “And you want to know why it’s disgusting? It tastes like soap, and it ruins everything it comes into contact with. Everything. Want salsa? Oh, no, tastes like soap now. Rice? Ah, no rice for you, cilantro has destroyed it. Even ground beef isn’t immune. It’s actually offensive to me, Lawson. It’s _offensive_ that anyone would ruin perfectly good Mexican food with that disgusting ingredient. It should be illegal.” She finally came to a silence and grabbed another dry chip with flourish, chomping down.

“You finished?” He cocked a brow at her and she gave him a nod to proceed. “Did you memorize that speech? Give that little…” he made a swirling gesture with his hand, “…spiel any time someone questions your weird aversion to an _herb_?”

That earned Mike a small laugh, and he grinned back at her, getting that _normal_ feeling once again. “People gotta know, otherwise they’re just going to keep eating it and be none the wiser. Can’t have that.”

“Oh, no, definitely not,” he teased finished the beer with a soft chuckle before signaling their waiter for another. “Any other strange food habits I should be aware of?

“Strange _food_ habits?”

“Yeah, now I know that you refuse to eat cilantro and you can’t be in a house 5 minutes without grape soda. I’m sure there’s got to be some more craziness going on in that pretty head of yours.” He gestured to her with the empty bottle, and could swear he caught a hint of a blush and another slight lip bite at his words. ( _That’s 3._ Not that Mike was counting).

“Nah, I think that’s it, Captain…” She sipped from her own beer. “Oh, unless you count those gross Corn Nuts you tried to force on me this morning.”

“Hey, you’re from North Carolina, I was just trying to make you feel at home.” Her mouth fell open in mock shock and he laughed, looking up as the waiter brought their food and another beer for him.

“Excuse me,” Mike spoke up, and Ginny narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Could I get some extra cilantro?” And she threw a chip in his direction, setting them both off into comfortable laughter once more.

When they settled into their meal, he risked the comfortable, friendly banter to broach the topic at hand once again. “So, no one to visit, nothing to see…what are we doing here, Baker? Unless you came all this way for half decent Mexican food.”

“Half decent?” She clucked her tongue at him. “La Fiesta is a treasure.”

“Seriously, what’s this all about?”

She chewed and considered his question, and Mike got lost again in the gravity of this moment. It had been a while since they were able to sit across a table from one another without discussing hitters or an issue with her slider, and he couldn’t help but think that his decision to tag along on her solo trip had been a good one. Even if she never opened up, maybe he’d get there eventually, and at least it gave him an opening to ask. He was so lost in contemplation that he almost didn’t hear her when she responded.

“Did you know I’m seeing a therapist?”

He cocked a brow at her. “No, why would I…” The answer came to him halfway through the question. Of course. She thought Amelia told him. At this point, only Blip knew it was over between them, it made sense for Ginny to think they still might be talking about her. He decided to answer the unspoken question. “No, that’s not…I don’t think I’m privy to that kind of information anymore.”

Later, he would wonder if that reveal is what caused her to open up to him. If the surprised recognition that flashed across her features was the same moment when she decided he was worthy of sharing her secrets with. But at that moment, all he cared about was that she was finally _talking_. “Since the party. The dunking incident…” She shrugged. “Some stuff went down. Management thought it would be good if I spoke to someone.”

Mike had never been good at this part. When Rachel had seen someone early in their marriage to cope with her husband’s road schedule, he’d never known if he was supposed to _ask_ her what had happened or let her deal with it alone. (Ironically, it was _her_ that scoffed at the idea of marital counseling all those years later). Therapy was personal, and the war between wanting to be there and not wanting to pry led Mike to an uncomfortable silence that Rachel used to say made him seem cold and unfeeling.

Luckily, Ginny seemed to take that silence as a sign she should continue. “It’s just a lot, you know? All of this…it’s making me question things.”

He nodded and rolled the bottle between his hands. “Personal things?”

She shrugged. “Some personal things.”

“Baseball things?”

This laugh was uncomfortable, stilted, and she bit at a lip before responding. “Definitely baseball things. Trying to remember what I loved about it.”

The realization came quicker than he expected. “So you came to Tarboro…”

She shrugged again, those slumped shoulders her biggest tell. “Dr. Barton thought it would be a good idea. Go back to the source. With my mom not here, and my brother not around…taking away all the distractions of the majors…she thought I might be able to remember the feeling if I had the time alone.”

“Alone plus your Captain.”

“Well, that wasn’t part of the plan.” It was light and kind, but Mike felt regret for the first time since he’d invited himself along on her little vacation. Maybe she had _needed_ to be alone. Maybe this was something she should deal with herself, and he was an interloper. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to get what she needed with him in the guest bedroom.

She quelled his fears, which was starting to become another Ginny Baker specialty.

“I’m actually glad you’re here. It’s nice to not be completely wrapped up in my own head for once.” He gave her a half smile, and was grateful when she returned it. “I don’t know if you know this, Lawson, but being the first of your kind can get a little lonely.”

The regret lifted, and Mike took her at her word. He might have invited himself along, but maybe it was the right move. Maybe he could anticipate what she needed better than either of them realized.

His eyes fell on her empty plate, and he looked over his shoulder to signal the waiter for the check.

“Alright, Rookie, if this is a fact finding mission, let’s do this. Where’s the next stop?”

           ***

Mike looked over at her as they stood side by side at the fence of an old, run down little league field, and Ginny’s expression was unreadable. They’d stopped off to get a 6 pack and pick up her ball and a couple gloves from the house, and now they were here, standing on what he knew was familiar grass to her. While his own Little League fields had been scattered across the country, in whatever town his mother had parked them in that month, this was her _home_. And while he knew she’d become a pro at keeping most of her emotions inside, he couldn’t help but wish she’d show him something.

Without even a glance in his direction, Ginny opened the gate and walked out onto the field, Mike and the 6 Pack close behind. He found a seat on the bleachers, leaning back to watch her with a discerning eye. She stepped into the infield but stopped right at the edge of the mound, toeing it with her sneaker, her expression almost…was that _nerves_? Mike leaned forward, not daring to break her moment.

With a deep breath, she finally stepped onto the mound. It was badly maintained, rough and lumpy, but there was something about her expression that Mike couldn’t help but examine. She was smiling at the dirt, biting her lip and tossing the ball into the glove. The tension had lifted from her shoulders, and her entire body seemed to settle into her stance, even with no one to pitch to. She was _comfortable_. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her like that.

Leaving the 6 pack behind, he grabbed the second glove and pushed up onto his feet, walking out on the field to join her. “All right, Baker,” he said, and she snapped her head to him, breaking out of her reverie but not losing the soft smile. “Let’s see what you got.” He huffed into his crouch behind home plate, punching his fist into his glove.

She wound up and threw a perfect strike, right into his glove, and he shook his head at her, tossing it back. “Oh, so this is what it takes to get you accurate…” He teased, and she rolled her eyes before throwing another. Right on target. The third was low, but most hitters would have chased it. He looked up at her for his return, meaning to tease her again, but it was then that he realized she was laughing. Real, genuine laughter, the kind that shook through her entire body. It occurred to him then that he’s not sure he’d heard her _really_ laugh since All Star weekend. ( _Since that phone call…_ )

“What’s so funny, Baker?” He called out and gave her a look, which just seemed to set her off more, leaning forward and catching the chuckles in her glove. It was about a minute before she maintained her composure and got back into her stance.

“It’s just…” She threw a screwball this time, right into his glove. “This is what I’d picture.”

He cocked a brow as they continued the back and forth of slow practice pitches and soft returns. “Picture?”

“When I was out here. With my team, or with my dad...I’d imagine you were back there, behind the plate, giving me signs…” She was definitely embarrassed now, he could hear it in her tone, but with all the things she’d told him that night, this one was relatively innocent.

“Always happy to make a fantasy come true for a fan, Rook,” he winked at her at one return and she rolled her eyes, but gave him a dimply grin.

“13-year-old Ginny would have been thrilled,” she winked back, and he grabbed his chest in mock pain.

“13-year-old…” He caught another slow throw. “Trying to make me feel old there, Baker?”

“You don’t need a reminder for that, Old Man,” she laughed and tossed the ball back and forth for a second, not looking at him. “You know, my Dad would have hated this.”

Mike told himself to tread lightly, and sat back on his haunches to watch her. His screaming knees were an afterthought as he tried to read the moment, Ginny looking at the ball now instead of him. “Hated what?” He finally tried.

She kept her eyes trained down, but Mike knew he had her. He stood up and leaned into the backstop, giving her the moment, letting her decide how to proceed. “This…whole thing. The idea that I’m not pitching well because I can’t remember why I _love_ baseball,” the word “love” came out like a curse, and Mike narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out where this was going. “He’d have said that loving the game shouldn’t affect my mechanics. That I know what to do, so I should be able to do it every time.”

Mike heard it in her voice before he saw it from his place 40 feet away. Her eyes had filled with tears, a sob escaping from the back of her throat. “He’d be so disappointed in me.”

She buried her face down in her glove, and Mike finally risked it, walking slowly toward the mound as the leather of her glove muffled her long, wracking sobs. When he finally reached her, he stopped letting her lead, and reached out to envelop her in his big, strong arms.

Ginny fell forward into him and dropped the glove, letting her head fall into his neck and sobbing against his shoulder. Mike could feel the tears soaking his shirt, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Couldn’t bring himself to do anything in that moment but hold his crying rookie, needing to be there for her.

“Ginny…” he tested, and continued when she didn’t protest. “Gin, I’m no expert on perfect parents. I’m sure as hell no expert on being a female major leaguer. But if your father wouldn’t have been so insanely proud of you for everything you’re doing right now, than he’s not the man you say he is.” Her shaking had stilled slightly, her non-glove hand resting on his hip to keep her steady.

She didn’t respond, but he surged ahead all the same. “But I bet he is…I bet he’d be just as proud of you as your mom, and your brother…Hell, the world is proud of you, Ginny. I’m proud of you…” She pulled back to look up a him, her eyes still red-rimmed but the tears were gone. When her voice came out, it was hoarse but real.

“If you ever tell the guys I cried like this…” She sniffed and he let out a soft laugh.

“Baker, shut up, I’m not telling anyone.” And she laughed once more, resting her head on his shoulder, and he was finally sure she would be ok. That this would be ok.

That they would be ok.

           ***

“He wasn’t a bad father, you know.”

They were sitting on the bleachers now, both halfway through their second beer, leaning back in a position that Mike was pretty sure he’d regret the next day.

“I didn’t think he was.”

“I’m just saying, he was a good guy. He loved us, he loved baseball, he just wanted me to be great.” She fiddled around with the bottle, a nervous energy having settled over her, as if all she wanted to do was explain away her tears from earlier.

“Well, then, he’d _definitely_ be proud.” The compliment earned him another grin, and he drained the bottle before reaching for a third.

“Careful, Old Man, we have a game tomorrow…”

“Tomorrow _night_ ,” he echoed her words from the night before, and she rolled her eyes but took a drink of her own beer. He looked out at the field and he could almost imagine what this was like for her. He could almost picture little league games with happy parents in the stands. A brother that looked out for her, that pummeled anyone who mocked her athletic wear or hyper focus. It didn’t seem like such a bad life, but everything has its challenges. Everyone has their shit.

When she finally spoke again, he had to strain to hear her.

“So, there’s something else I didn’t tell you…” He met her eyes, and could see the war behind them, trying to decide whether she was going to let him in to the latest internal crisis.

“Oh yeah? Another baseball thing?” She laughed, but shook her head.

“No…” She considered. “Well, not exactly.” He cocked a brow, signaling her to continue. “There are…pictures. Of me. They might be leaked soon.”

He could feel the white fury building behind his eyes. “Pictures?”

“Naked pictures.”

Mike tried to hold his composure. He took a deep breath, working hard not to show his hand, not to make her feel worse than he was sure she already did. “From Trevor Davis?”

The shocked look was another he’d gotten used to. Her body froze, her eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open in an ‘O’ shape. “How’d you know that?”

Mike shrugged, playing it cool. “I overheard you. After the brawl.” He didn’t tell her what else had happened. Didn’t reveal how he’d tracked Trevor down, pinned him up against a wall. Didn’t tell her how he’d shown his hand. That there might be an opposing player out there…an ex-boyfriend…who knew more about his feelings than she did.

She nodded and sucked in her lip, apparently accepting the answer.

“It’s not a big deal, you know…” And it felt false coming out, even more so when her scoff echoed around the field.

“Nah, not at all…just my life.” But it was soft, real, and when she looked up to meet his eyes, she was smiling. And for the second time tonight, Mike knew that Ginny would be ok.

“You know, I’m shocked you don’t have a naked picture out there in the world. Or 20…” Her eyes were dancing, ending the tense part of the conversation, and he shook his head at her to hide a grateful expression.

“Hey, we’re talking about you here, Baker.”

“We’re not supposed to be talking at all.” She took a long, deep drink from her beer. “I guess I’m just appreciating the honesty for once.” But her heart wasn’t in the jab, and she looked up at him with a smile in her dark brown eyes. A silence – comfortable, this time – settled between them as they contented themselves with warm beer and a warmer breeze in the air. Mike was out of practice at just _sitting_ with a woman, but doing it with Ginny felt natural. Right, almost.

She polished off her second bottle and Mike caught a quick shiver out of the corner of his eye. “Come on, Baker, it’s getting late. Let’s take it somewhere a bit more climate controlled."

“It’s 65 degrees,” she rolled her eyes at him, but still stood, wrapping her arms around herself and walking up to the fence, waiting for him to drag his old, sore body up off the bleachers to join her.

“You know…” she finally said when he found his place beside her. “This is where I had my first kiss."

He cocked a gleeful eyebrow over at her. “Oh yeah?”

She rolled her eyes at the expression, but nodded and held on to the fence in front of her. “Mmmhmm. Jimmy Wade. He stuck around after practice one day and told me he liked me. That was before my no ballplayers rule, of course,” she gave him a pointed look. He shook his head and leaned over, closer to her face.

“Did you imagine he was me?” He whispered into her ear and she gasped and pushed him away, shaking her head.

“I was _12_ , Lawson…” He rolled his eyes.

“That’s not a no…”

“ _No_ , I didn’t imagine he was you. I didn’t even know _you_ were you yet.”

“Well, that explains it…” he laughed with a wink, and they fell into a different kind of stifling silence. The tension crackled between their bodies, and he thought back to that night on the phone. To the anger over Amelia. To the way he’d ripped Trevor’s head off for not taking enough care. He thought back to the sleepless nights over the past two weeks. To the stilted conversations in the clubhouse.

To the smile on her face from just a few minutes ago.

Mike moved before he fully realized what he was doing, bringing a hand to the small of her back, dragging it up her spine, and finally settling in her hair. Ginny didn’t pull away. She didn’t fight him. No, if anything, she leaned into the touch, and turned to look into his eyes.

Her expression was vulnerable, real. Mike felt in that moment just what this could do to her. What it could do to both of them, of course, but mostly to her. To her career, to her life. But in that moment, they weren’t teammates. They were just two people, standing on a little league field, and he didn’t want to be anything else.

When his lips met hers, he could actually feel her melt into the kiss, and he wrapped his arms around to pull her closer. First kisses were supposed to be awkward, uncomfortable. This was anything but. He could feel the kiss all the way to his core, spreading through his body, to the tips of his fingers, through his toes. He felt like he was on fire, and the sparks were going to burn them both alive.

She slid her tongue across his, and all he wanted was more. More touch, more tongue, more everything. And if the way she keened into his mouth and shivered under his touch was any indication, he wasn’t the only one entertaining the thought.

They pulled apart just enough to breathe, their foreheads touching and their lips close enough to brush with every movement. He didn’t want it to be over, and he knew if he pulled back any further, they would both come to their senses.

“This didn’t happen,” she finally murmured against his lips, before leaning in for another, deeper kiss. And he knew it couldn’t. He knew that in the morning this wouldn’t be real. That they would wake up in separate bedrooms, talk about hitters on the plane, and everything would finally be back to normal.

But as long as they were here, that lack of _normalcy_ could last a little while longer. At least until they stopped kissing.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at [Bawsanity](http://bawsanity.tumblr.com).
> 
> Comments and kudos are my drug.


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